Here's To Friendship
by bennybear
Summary: My Rosie being friends with an arrogant Slytherin git? Fat chance! - The parents finally learn about their children's choice in friends; next generation story, canon compliant
1. Neville's Surprise

Author's notes:

#1 This story is a sequel to "Of Hats and Girls", "Ravenclaw. Ravenclaw? Ravenclaw!", and "Of Boys and Spells". All of them are based on chapter "Nineteen Years Later" of DH. However, I ignored most pieces of additional information (e.g. the Weasley family tree or the retirement of Minerva McGonagall) that Mrs Rowling gave in later interviews. What is not in the books is not canon.

#2 Readers have asked me to provide a short summary of previous events. If you wish to read the stories for yourself, please skip the following passage.

- - - "Of Hats and Girls"

Rose, Albus, and Scorpius are all Sorted into Ravenclaw. So are Persephone Ackerley and the Austrian Joseph Gerstlmeier.

- - - "Ravenclaw. Ravenclaw? Ravenclaw!"

How do the parents react when they learn their children are in Ravenclaw?

- - - "Of Boys and Spells"

When one of Rose's essays is stolen, Albus and Scorpius attempt to steal it back, are caught, and have to serve detention. During that detention, Albus nicks a bottle of Veritaserum.

Later seventh year student Julius Yaxley hexes several first-years: Albus and Scorpius's hair will be violet for months, their friend Persephone can't move her legs anymore. A Hufflepuff girl is apparently in actual danger of dying after having suffered an unknown curse, which the healers are unable to reverse.

Albus and Scorpius along with James and his friends find a way to feed Yaxley a dose of Veritaserum. With the help of Auror Dean Thomas, the crime is finally solved. Thomas makes the children (including his own daughter) promise to keep quiet about the incident. In exchange, he'll take the blame for the unauthorised use of Veritaserum.

#3 Special thanks go to my beta readers Adalibina and EvilSatsuma as well as to duj for all her help, support, and advice.

-

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

- - - - - -

Chapter 1: Neville's Surprise

-

(July 31, 2018, 22:30 pm; Godric's Hollow)

-

"I have an announcement to make," Neville said, a small, dreamy smile on his lips.

"Go ahead," Ginny said expectantly.

"I'm getting married."

He answered the chorus of cheers that met him with a somewhat sheepish grin.

"Was about time, too," Ron muttered when the noisy excitement had subsided.

Harry got up from his armchair. "I'll fetch that bottle of overly expensive Greek wine," he said. "We have something to celebrate."

"Have we not been celebrating your birthday for several hours now?" Ginny chirped.

"Yeah," he said, winking at her. "But that we do every year. How often is Neville going to get married?"

-

Harry grinned to himself as he descended to the cellar. Neville getting married, that was happy news indeed.

Whistling under his breath, he selected a bottle from the shelf. He'd got it – as a gift for his thirty-fifth birthday – from the head of the secret Seers' Society of Delphi. Unbeknownst to most of the wizarding world and to the Muggles altogether, the famed Oracle was still working. Harry wiped off the dust of three years with his sleeve and went back to the sitting room.

Sure enough, everybody was still discussing the forthcoming wedding. Even Luna had lowered the copy of this month's _Eerie Encounters_ into her lap.

Harry took six fresh wineglasses from the cupboard and filled them with the honey-coloured, sweet smelling liquid. He then raised his glass and gestured for the others to do the same.

"Here's to Neville and his wife-to-be," he said.

"Here's to you, Harry," Neville quietly said in return. "Every time something good happens, I can't help thinking how many people might not have lived to see it if it hadn't been for you. Cheers!" he added and took a quick sip, so as not to give Harry the opportunity for a reply.

Harry tasted the wine carefully. It was superb. This had been a good birthday, despite the fact that a heavy bout of summer rain had chased them indoors half an hour earlier.

He glanced at the merry faces of his friends. For the past two decades, the evening of July the 31st had been reserved for a relaxed little get-together with only Ron, Hermione, Neville, and Luna. The big family party was traditionally being held at the Burrow on the following weekend.

"Has Megan already decided on her name?" Hermione asked, putting down her glass.

"She'll follow your example," Neville said. "Two professors with exactly the same name would only cause endless confusion. So, she'll be Professor Jones-Longbottom."

"I like that," Ginny said. "I'm really happy for you and Megan."

Neville smiled at her. He was practically radiating happiness.

"Neville, I meant to ask you," Luna piped up, "does Megan happen to be pregnant?"

"Not yet," Neville told her, the contented smile never leaving his face, "but we're working on it."

"You know," Hermione said, "there hasn't been a married couple teaching at Hogwarts for nearly a century. And you'll be the first parents since the Periwyggs."

"I'd like to see McGonagall's face when she wises up," Ron chuckled.

"Quite," Neville agreed, still smiling. "You should have seen her the morning after Albus and Scorpius's broomstick stunt, when old Filius Flitwick walked into the staff room and said, if that had been you, Harry, and Scorpius's father, he'd gladly have awarded you twenty points instead of docking them."

"Err, you've lost me here," Harry said. "What _broomstick stunt_?"

"Well, James helped out with brooms when they wanted to retrieve Rose's stolen essay," Neville said, sounding for all the world like someone stating the most obvious.

"Wait," Hermione cut in. "People steal my daughter's essays?"

"That poor Hufflepuff girl did, the one who was placed under an Imperius Curse," Neville answered. "Among other things, Yaxley made her steal Rose's homework and copy it."

"I know _that_," Harry said. "Dean gave me a few insights that don't appear in the official report. But he didn't mention anything about flying around on broomsticks, let alone doing stunts."

"Well, of course," Neville said. "That was about a week before McGonagall called in the Aurors. Nobody guessed at an Imperius Curse by then, least of all first-year students like Albus or Scorpius."

"What's Scorpius Malfoy to do with anything?" Ginny asked, slightly suspicious.

"Isn't that as clear as crystal?" Ron remarked. "The Slytherins Imperiused a poor, unsuspecting first-year. I bet they bragged enough about it in their common room for their whole house to know, and the Malfoys have always been cowards. They chicken out as soon as things get tough. Should have been a piece of cake for James, really, to force little Malfoy to spill the beans."

"Ron, I'm sure I don't understand what you're going on about." Neville seemed genuinely puzzled. "I don't think James could force Scorpius to do anything unless he smothered Rose and Albus first. The two of them have pretty well stood in the way of everybody who tries to harass Scorpius."

"Why would they do that?" Ginny asked, taken aback.

"They're friends," Neville said levelly. "Do they need another reason?"

"Ha, ha Neville!" Ron exclaimed. "That one has bells on!"

Neville blinked. He opened his mouth but Ron – almost laughing – went on, "My Rosie being friends with an arrogant Slytherin git? Fat chance!"

"Ron," Neville said and paused, as if pondering the answer to some byzantine conundrum, "Scorpius isn't in Slytherin. He's in Ravenclaw."

"Oh," said Luna.

Harry wondered bemusedly why nobody had said anything about Scorpius Malfoy not ending up in Slytherin for _a whole year_. The others were clearly just as much surprised as he was. Neville, in turn, was perplexed by the lack of verbal reaction aside from Luna's minuscule comment.

"That was a joke, Neville, right?" Ron finally said. Something in his voice suggested that he hoped the answer would be yes but that he also knew this was not going to happen.

"Scorpius Malfoy is in Ravenclaw," Neville repeated. "Didn't you know?"

Ron downed the contents of his glass in one go and held it out for Harry to refill it. Harry complied, concentrating on holding the bottle perfectly steady. Exercises like this were helpful in keeping sudden dismay under control.

"As a matter of fact, I did not know," Ginny said, glaring at Neville. "Obviously, neither of my sons deemed it worth mentioning."

Harry could tell she was miffed. He handed the glass back to Ron and then turned to Neville, asking softly, "Why did you never breathe a word?"

"I thought you knew," Neville simply said.

"I didn't."

"Sorry. I didn't realise..." Neville trailed off. "The way you never asked about Scorpius made me think that things were exactly as fine as they appeared to be."

"Ravenclaw!" Ron suddenly burst out. "Why did she have to be in Ravenclaw? Wasn't Gryffindor good enough for my daughter? And to make it worse, the Malfoy brat has to be there, too! I swear, if he ever as much as..." – he got to his feet, gesturing expansively with his glass, which was empty again – "if he ever looks at her... in an inprappr... innappi... bad way, I'll... I'll-"

Hermione firmly grabbed his wrist and pulled him back onto the sofa, hissing something about getting a grip on himself.

Ginny stared at her. "Don't tell me you knew," she said slowly.

"No, I didn't," Hermione said with barely contained impatience. "Perhaps I should have asked a few more questions instead of contenting myself with the information Rose volunteered."

Ginny nodded in agreement.

"And Neville," Hermione went on, "You said, they were _friends_?"

"They are."

"Not much longer," Ron declared. "I will tell her... I will _order_ her-"

Hermione nudged him into silence. "How did that happen?" she inquired of Neville.

"How they became friends? I don't know. Nobody does, really. If truth be known, most of the staff expected something along the lines of history repeating itself. Having a Potter, a Weasley, and a Malfoy in the same year seemed to bode trouble. However, the fears were unwarranted."

Ron gave a snort, but kept quiet.

"I still can't believe it," Ginny murmured, now more worried than angry. "Okay, they were Sorted into the same house. So it's probably better to tolerate each other rather than to fight all the time. But why _friends_? Can't they simply stay out of each others way?"

"Might be tricky," Neville said. "According to Filius, Albus and Scorpius are in the same dorm."

A heavy sigh escaped Harry's lips. The mere thought of having to share a dormitory with Scorpius's father would have driven him up the wall! "Do they _really_ get along with each other?" he asked.

"Right from the start," Neville nodded. "If I may say so, they got on like a house on fire."

Ron mumbled something incoherent under his breath. However, Harry caught the word _ploy_, which stirred a memory. Once he'd overheard – while hiding in a large, black cabinet at Borgin and Burkes – Lucius Malfoy lecturing his son about how it wouldn't be prudent to _appear_ less than fond of Harry Potter. Was there the possibility that Draco had told Scorpius something similar?

Harry rather liked to think his son wasn't so gullible as to be so easily ensnared by some manipulative bastard. Rose at least should have better judgement; she was her mother's daughter.

Then again, _manipulative_ was probably not the word to describe Draco Malfoy. He had been, in his own way, rather straightforward. For most of their time at school, Harry's relationship with him had been open hostility with neither side holding back. By now, Harry thought he could make out the reason why. They had both, quite often, and each one for his own, specific reasons, felt their backs were to the wall. Since running hadn't been an option, they'd resorted to biting. And till today, Harry could not see how they could have acted differently – tightly wrapped up as they had been in their respective political environment, and with hardly any other option than to walk down the paths that had been chosen for them.

Times had changed, though. Maybe Albus and Scorpius could enjoy a freedom of choice their fathers had never had.

Right on cue, as if she'd heard his thoughts, Luna said, "I can see why Scorpius chose to be in Ravenclaw."

"What do you mean, _why he chose_," Ginny grumbled. "You don't choose your house. You're Sorted into it."

"You do choose," Luna said. "How else would it ever work?"

"Stop talking nonsense," Ginny snapped. "It's bad enough as it is – unless there is something in this wretched wine and I'm just hallucinating..."

"The wine is perfectly pure," Luna assured her, completely unperturbed. "And I'm not talking nonsense. People choose their houses. Ask Harry."

"Luna's right," Harry answered the silent question in his wife's eyes. "I chose Gryffindor over Slytherin."

"And I Gryffindor over Ravenclaw," Hermione joined in. "I debated with that Hat." 1)

"Well, I didn't," Ginny said stubbornly.

"But when you put the Hat onto your head, Ginny, what were your thoughts then?" Harry asked her quietly.

She shrugged. "I hoped to be in the same house as everyone of my family. So what? Is there something wrong with hoping that you'll be with your siblings?"

"Of course not." Luna slightly shook her head, making the gaudy doodahs she wore for earrings rustle. "Was this all that you thought or did you have more reasons for preferring Gryffindor?"

Ginny shrugged again. "I thought that being a girl wasn't my fault, and that I was as courageous as my brothers any time."

"There you go," Luna said, and Harry gave his wife a nod and a smile that said the same.

"Come on, you two!" Ginny exclaimed, still full of doubt. "Are you suggesting _that's_ the way the Sorting works?"

"I suppose, yes," Neville said. "Now that I – for the first time ever – think about my own Sorting, I have to admit that Luna and Harry have a point."

Ginny turned to her brother, who sat rather slumped between her and Hermione. "What do you think about this?" she demanded.

Ron struggled to get into an upright position. With some difficulty, he managed to focus on his sister. "I say she's not going to marry any spoilt Pureblood brat." His vehemence was oddly counteracted by the way he slurred his words together. "Not my Rosie, no. That's what I say."

Ginny couldn't help it. She laughed out loud.

Ron scowled at her, uncomprehendingly. "What's ya laugh?"

Hermione shoved her husband gently back against the cushions. "Take a break, darling," she said soothingly. "I'll tell you when it's time to go home."

Ron smirked and tried to kiss her; Ginny's laughter changed to unrestrained giggling.

"I'm sorry I ruined your birthday, Harry," Neville said.

"It's not your fault. I should have known better than to give Ron so much of this strong wine. And as for my son being friends with Malfoy's, well, I had to learn it sometime. It doesn't matter whether that's today or tomorrow. I just wish Albus had had the courage to tell me himself."

"He does have courage, your son," Neville said. "He probably wanted to spare Rose the trouble she will be in now. Postpone it, at least."

"Maybe," Harry conceded. Albus and Rose had always been close, and being together at school had most likely strengthened the bond. Albus, Rose, and... _a_ _Malfoy_. He tried to picture the three of them walking into the Great Hall together, sitting down at the long table, eating, chatting, laughing. His success was limited, though; it felt too much like putting him, Hermione, and Scorpius's father together.

He snapped out of his musings when Hermione abruptly got up from the sofa. She had decided that taking Ron home was – considering the circumstances – the wisest course of action.

-

Saying good-bye took a while. Ron was definitely tipsy, Ginny still giggling, and Neville kept apologising.

Luna held Hermione's hands for a moment and said, "You should be proud of your daughter."

"I'll think about it," Hermione replied, her face stern and thoughtful. She grabbed Ron round the waist – which he visibly enjoyed – and Disapparated instead of using the Floo network, thus avoiding the risk of him falling out of the wrong grate accidentally.

"I should be going, too. There's a couple of newly hatched Golden Snidgets I have to look after," Luna said. She hugged Neville, then Ginny and when she let go of Harry, she asked, "You are proud of Albus, aren't you?"

Harry gave a noncommittal grunt, feeling uncomfortable. He knew he shouldn't have preferences regarding his children, yet Albus was special to him. He was quieter and more determined than his siblings were. On the other hand, weren't they all special in some way – Jimmy all buoyant and bubbly, and little sweet Lily – wasn't she still cute and adorable at the age of ten? Any attempt to mould them into a different shape would only result in their unhappiness.

"I might be, eventually," he said, looking not at Luna but at Ginny.

Ginny bit her lip. "Rationally, I should be able to make out certain benefits. Oh yes, I certainly could compose an article_: marvellous development... will encourage unifying process within the wizarding community, blah, blah, blah_. The point is, I don't feel like being very rational right now."

"You will," Luna said with conviction. She flicked her wand, and flames sprang up in the fireplace.

"I _want_ to worry about my son's well-being," Ginny sulked. "Mother's prerogative."

"Sure. Makes perfect sense," Luna said equably. She took a pinch of Floo powder out of the ornate jar that sat on the mantelpiece and threw it into the flames. Waving good bye, she stepped into the emerald green blaze and was gone a second later.

"Well..." Neville said, nodding towards the fireplace.

Ginny moved the powder jar quickly out of his reach.

"Not yet," she said. "First, I want some questions answered. Neville, are you _really_ sure the Malfoy boy is suitable company for Albus? Is that your private opinion? Would you genuinely and sincerely say that?

Neville inhaled deeply but he held Ginny's gaze. "Scorpius is a boy like any other. His biggest flaw is his father. Do you – genuinely and sincerely – expect me to hold his ancestry against him?"

"Of course not," Harry intervened. Being bullied by teachers because they held an old grudge against your father was something he wished upon no child.

"I do not play favourites with anyone; I try not to discriminate against anyone," Neville insisted. "Slytherin or other, they are students and deserve the same respect, the same praise for equal achievement, and the same punishment for analogous rule breaking. I maintain that policy of mine no matter what certain colleagues say."

"I know, Neville. And I assure you I appreciate your commitment in this matter," Harry said. "But can't you draw us a more detailed picture of Scorpius?"

"As I said, he's a student like others. His Herbology marks are good, although that may not be saying much – my tests are generally considered a piece of cake. He's always been polite to me and also to Megan."

"How does he act towards students who are _not_ the children of famous or influential people?" Ginny asked. "Does he talk to them at all?"

"The first time I really talked to a Ravenclaw was in our fifth year – I could have made friends with Luna a lot earlier. I could have been friends with Megan right from the beginning despite her being in Hufflepuff. What kept us apart? I'd say lack of opportunity and mutual prejudice. Well, it's fiendishly difficult to do something about prejudice but when I started teaching I promised myself that I would provide opportunity. I've made it a habit to team up students of different houses. I had Scorpius work with Hufflepuffs all year long. He's never complained. Nor have his partners. I would have learned it from Megan if he had called somebody the m-word."

"I see," Ginny said sarcastically, "little Malfoy is a perfect, role model student."

"I don't know about role model," Neville replied, his eyes twinkling. "I think entering girls' dormitories via the window is a bit frowned upon. He's also earned himself a fine reputation as a nuisance with Binns."

"With _Binns_?" Harry wondered.

"Binns started complaining early on about the Ravenclaw first-years ganging up on him. Apparently, the Ackerley girl kept interrupting his lessons with questions. Others soon followed her example, namely Rose and Scorpius."

"An Ackerley girl?" Ginny asked. "Is she Stewart's daughter?"

"Yes, she is," Neville nodded. "Persephone. She's friends with Scorpius, too. If he's not seen with Rose or Albus, he'll be most likely with her and the Austrian boy."

"That's Joseph Gertslemeir, right," Ginny said. "I thought he was Muggle-born."

"He is. Why-"

"Hold on a sec," Harry interrupted as a baffling thought occurred to him. "Did Scorpius know Nancy Donovan was Muggle-born?"

"Oh, come on, Harry! You think he thought the girl was a thief because she's a Muggle-born?" Harry held up both hands in a soothing gesture – that wasn't what he'd meant – but Neville was in full swing. "Look, everybody believed she'd taken Rose's essay. The headmistress in person confirmed that the girl had had the cheek to copy two thirds of Rose's homework. Megan subtracted fifty points from Hufflepuff, as a result terminating all hopes of winning the House Cup for the first time in ages!"

"Calm down, Nev, Hufflepuff did win in the end," Ginny said. "I bet Megan was over the moon."

"That's a plain understatement," Neville said, the ecstatic smile all of a sudden reappearing on his face. "They got the points back once the real culprit was found out. Dean did a good job. Give him my regards, Harry."

"I will."

Neville pointed to the powder jar Ginny was still holding. "May I?" he asked. "Megan's waiting."

Smiling, she proffered the jar to him. "Give her our love."

Neville beamed. "Oh, I'm getting married. I almost can't believe it myself..."

"You'll do fine." Harry gave him a reassuring slap on the shoulder.

"I'll send you the formal invitation soon," Neville said as he threw the Floo powder into the fire. And then, the instant before he stepped into the green flames, he looked back and smirked, "There's one thing I'd really like to know – how Malfoy feels about his son's choice in friends."

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1) Hermione doesn't explicitly say in canon that she influenced the Sorting Hat's decision.

The statement she makes in OotP simply reads, "Well, the Sorting Hat did seriously consider putting me in Ravenclaw during my Sorting... but it decided on Gryffindor in the end..."; [ch 19, p. 441; Bloomsbury, paperback]. She explains neither how nor on what basis that decision was made.

The gap could well be filled with "... but _I waited quietly and patiently until_ it decided on Gryffindor..." but also with "... but _after I had discussed the matter with the Hat_ it decided on Gryffindor..."

I prefer the latter because this interpretation is consistent with what Harry tells Albus in DH ["... you'll be able to choose Gryffindor over Slytherin. The Sorting Hat takes your choice into account."; epilogue, p. 607; Bloomsbury, hardcover].


	2. Breakfast at Grimmauld Place 12

Chapter 2: Breakfast at Grimmauld Place

-

(August 1, 2018, 7:05 am; London)

-

Rose sensed the tension the very moment she entered the kitchen. There was no doubt her parents had been fighting and had only fallen silent when she'd opened the door. Hugo, hunched over his bowl of porridge, was hardly to be made out at all. Her brother had a knack of becoming nearly invisible whenever something unpleasant happened around him. Rose knew it was raw magic, done subconsciously.

"Good morning, Mum and Dad," she said carefully.

Whereas her mother returned the greeting, her father merely growled.

"Your dad meant to ask you a question, Rose," her mother remarked conversationally as Rose sat down at the table.

The fight was about her? Rose didn't recall having done anything wrong lately.

Her father slammed his spoon down and spat, "Why in Merlin's name did you have to go and befriend a Death Eater brat?"

Rose stiffened. She knew from experience that any logical argument would be wasted as long as her father was in that mood.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she replied. It didn't matter how much angrier he got. "There are no Death Eaters among my friends."

"I'm talking about Malfoy!" her father thundered.

"Scorpius Malfoy?"

"Yes, _Scorpius_ Malfoy! How many more Malfoys are in your year and in your house?"

"None. I just wondered because he is no Death Eater."

Out of the corner of her eye, Rose glanced at her mother. She couldn't detect any obvious signs of disapproval.

Her father, however, had gone red in the face. "Stop playing the fool! I warned you about him! Don't you remember what I told you on the platform just before you got on the train?"

"You said I was to beat him in every test," Rose said in much the same manner she would give an answer in class.

Her father paused and eyed her suspiciously.

"And?" he demanded after a few seconds. "Did you?"

"I tried my hardest, Dad. There were a few draws, though. Scorpius is no idiot. And-" She fell silent when she remembered that horrible test in April when she'd nearly failed whereas Scorpius had scored almost full marks.

"And what?" he prompted with the air of an Auror who had just caught the delinquent lying and could prove it.

"Like you can talk, my dearest husband," her mum said, almost sweetly. "How many times did _you_ come out as top of your class?"

"That's not the issue here," he retorted, slightly deflating. "_You_ beat Malfoy in each test, and that is what matters!"

"I didn't," Rose's mother said.

"Perhaps not in Potions because Snape was pretending to play favourites," he dismissed her remark. Turning back to Rose, he asked, "Did he? Did he beat you?"

"Sometimes," Rose admitted. "I can explain why, Dad. For example, I thought Astrid Lindgreen had written _Winnie the Pooh_ and-"

"Winny the _what_?" her dad interrupted her. "What kind of crap do they teach you nowadays?"

"It's a book for children," her mum put in.

"A children's book? Never heard of it."

"Probably not," her mum agreed. "It's a Muggle book. By the way, that might be an idea. Grandma Granger was asking what she should give Hugo for his birthday..."

"She won't give my son anything... inappropriate," Dad grumbled in the direction of his wife before he turned to Rose again. "What's that about Muggle books, anyway? Does Megan teach you Muggle literature?"

"Among other things, yes," Rose said, relieved to reach safer territory. "We learn a lot about everyday Muggle life, especially how children of our age live – what subjects they have at school, what they do in their leisure time, what clothes they wear, what music they like, and many other things. Professor Jones says she wants to prepare us so we won't get stuck midway through our second sentence in a normal conversation with a Muggle child. She honestly appreciates the input of Muggle-born students like Joseph. I can often contribute, too, because of all that I've seen and learned from Grandma and Grandpa-"

"Yes, yes, that's all very well, of course. Discouraging ignorance of Muggle life is the official policy these days," her dad cut her short. "And Malfoy is actually good at Muggle Studies?"

Rose nodded.

"Figures," he muttered. "His father will have told him to show some excessive zeal there. It's all machinations."

"The possibility that the boy might be genuinely interested in learning about a different culture doesn't occur to you, Ron, does it?" her mother asked.

"No, it doesn't," he replied "We're talking about Malfoy's son."

Her mum sighed, but said nothing in return.

"And by talking about Malfoy's son, Rose, do you remember what else I told you on the platform?"

"You said Granddad Weasley would be severely disappointed if I married a pure-blood."

"Right." Her father's face was lighting up a fraction. "Keep that in mind. I mean it."

"Yes, Dad," she said, looking down at her porridge to hide the grin she couldn't completely suppress.

She wasn't going to explain where the catch was. Her dad seemed sufficiently placated, and she would save up her little gem of knowledge for a rainy day. For a day rainier than this one, anyway.

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Author's notes:

#1 Special thanks go to my beta readers EvilSatsuma and duj.

#2 It is not explicitly said in the books whether or not Draco ever topped Hermione in a Potions test or in any test at all. I assume it happened some time because I find it hard to see how anybody can score the highest marks in every subject for six years.


	3. The Son of a Hero

Chapter 3: The Son of a Hero

-

(August 1, 2018, 7:30 am; Godric's Hollow)

-

Albus was fluffing up his pillow when there was a knock at his door.

"Almost ready, Mum!" he called. "Coming in a sec!"

"Good morning, Albus," his dad said.

Albus spun round.

"Dad? I, err... good morning..." He trailed off. His father's face was unusually stern.

"I want a word with you," his dad said, pulling up the stool from the corner and sitting down. "In private."

"What do you want to know?" Albus asked softly, already guessing the answer. Neville had been here last night. The only surprise was that the teacher hadn't brought up the topic at an earlier occasion.

"I'd like to hear the names of all boys in your dormitory."

Albus sat down heavily on his half-made bed.

"You want to hear about Scorpius, right?"

"Yes, I do. Why didn't I learn about him sooner?"

Albus regarded the geometrical pattern of the carpet around his bare feet. How could he explain his long-standing hesitation to talk about Scorpius?

"I didn't..." he stopped, cleared his throat and started anew, "I heard what Uncle Ron said to Rose on the platform. We thought... _I_ thought... I was sure he'd go into a state if he heard about Scorpius being in Ravenclaw. And probably not just him. I was rather sure everyone would be upset..."

"Do I look upset?"

Albus chanced a quick glance at his father. Perhaps he wasn't upset, but he was most definitely disappointed, severely disappointed.

"Leaving Uncle Ron aside, Albus, you should have told _me_. Don't you think you can trust me?"

That stung; Albus swallowed. Why had he delayed, time and again, the task assigned to him – to him and Rose – by Victoire? Perhaps it was just as well that he had opted against being in Gryffindor. He was a bloody coward.

"I'm sorry, Dad," he said miserably.

"I hope you are."

"I'm sorry for not telling you, Dad, but not for being friends with Scorpius." Albus raised his eyes to face his father full on. There was no alternative but to see the matter through here and now. "He is all right. He doesn't hold with Death Eater ideology or other beliefs of that kind."

"So Neville tells me," his dad said quietly.

Albus let out a deep breath. The worst seemed to be over. Once he had his father on his side, it didn't matter how mad the world went around them.

"How did it happen?" his dad asked, his voice low and calm. "You were Sorted into the same house, ended up in the same dormitory, and then you became friends? Did it go like that?"

"No. It's rather that we ended up in the same dormitory because..." Albus paused, recalling the train ride a year ago, "because we got, well, not friends yet, but sort of acquainted before."

"You got acquainted _before_ the Sorting?" his dad asked surprised.

"We met on the train. I had gone to see James but I ran into Marianne on the way. When I finally came back – after an hour or so – he sat in our compartment, right opposite Rose. He was reading the _Daily Prophet_. Rose was reading, too. I had absolutely no idea what to make of it. But before I could say or do anything, Rose had already introduced us: _Al, this is Scorpius. Scorpius, please meet my cousin Albus_. She actually said _please_ so I could hardly refuse to shake his hand even though I felt rather awkward doing so. He looked... nervous and uneasy – yes, that was what I thought about him. Rose then tried to get us talking. She seemed amazingly at ease, but I couldn't think of anything to say. Not anything very inspired, at any rate. I simply asked him a fifty-fifty-question. He came up with a smart reply," Albus paused again, reminiscing the moment. "That's how the ice broke I guess. We played chess for the rest of the journey."

"Sounds like you handled that difficult situation skilfully enough," his dad said with the tiniest hint of approval in his voice. "However, I can't see how those few hours together with you and Rose should have affected his Sorting."

"Well," Albus said, uncertain as to what the actual question was, "he asked Rose and me about it, and I told him what you had told me – that we could choose."

"Are you implying," his dad cried astonished, "he _chose_ Ravenclaw over Slytherin?"

"He said so, yes."

"Did he also say why?" his dad asked in what seemed to be breathless anticipation.

The sudden curiosity perplexed Albus. His father had never asked why _he_ had chosen Ravenclaw over both his parents' former house. Why did he worry about Scorpius's choices?

"Not in so many words," Albus said. There had been quite a number of occasions when Scorpius had congratulated himself on not being in Slytherin – later. None of them could possibly have been the basis for the initial decision. "Maybe the reason was Bathsheba Flint and her annoying behaviour."

"I see," his dad said, but his face betrayed doubt.

"She was mean to him," Albus offered. Yes, there was logic to it, he realised. Flint's words, combined with what Scorpius had known about his parents by then, had made Ravenclaw a sensible pick.

His dad nodded hesitantly. "Okay," he said after a few seconds, "one other thing, Albus: Did Scorpius know Nancy Donovan was a Muggle-born?"

"Sure, everyone does," Albus said, ever more puzzled about his dad's strange questions. "Even Yaxley knew."

"What _I_ would like to know," his mother suddenly spoke up, giving him a jolt, "is how you got James to keep his mouth shut?"

Albus gaped at her. How had she got in? He'd heard neither a knock nor the gentle, swishing sound of the door gliding over the thick carpet.

"I didn't," he said. "Victoire did. The morning after our Sorting, she called in the family council. When everyone was there, she said, 'None of you is to mention Scorpius Malfoy at home before Rose and Albus have told their parents.' She explained how you would all be worried and upset, especially Uncle Ron."

After a drawn out moment of silence, his dad asked, "And James listens to her?"

"Obviously," his mum murmured. "Or did you hear him say anything about young Malfoy?"

"James was soon convinced," Albus said. "Only Marianne kept arguing for a while, but with both Victoire and Angel as well as Kevin against her she didn't stand much of a chance."

"A _family council_..." his mum shook her head in amazement. "There was no such thing in my time at Hogwarts."

"We meet once a month or so, usually in the Trophy room," Albus explained, "or when there is something urgent to discuss."

"And Victoire is the... chair? Or was anyway? Who'll be succeeding her?"

"She's named Kevin as the new senior cousin."

"_Senior cousin_?" his dad chuckled softly.

"Good choice, though," his mum said. "Better than Angel with her fierce temper."

Albus couldn't agree more. Uncle Charlie's oldest son was a nice guy and remarkably level-headed for a Weasley.

His dad got up, a faint smile tugging at his lips. He restored the stool to its place right beneath the large poster showing a Norwegian Ridgeback.

"Let's have breakfast," he suggested.

Mum nodded and turned to leave, but changed her mind halfway to the door.

"Albus, you _do_ know Scorpius's father and grandfather were Death Eaters, right?" she asked, coming back. "His father got away with probation since he was apparently more of a swaggering would-be criminal than a real one. Lucius Malfoy, the grandfather, served eight years in Azkaban – according to standing law, he had to do the original sentence twice after his escape from prison. His time of probation had to be redoubled too after your dad" – she glanced at her husband – "had caught him using magic illegally."

"Yes, I know," Albus said firmly. And a great deal more, he added to himself. A great deal more disturbing, contradicting, embarrassing facts. He opened his mouth to ask a question himself, but his mum beat him to it.

"And how does Scorpius feel about all this?" she enquired.

Albus jumped off his bed. He turned brusquely away and stomped to the window.

Bad, he thought staring at the unkempt garden. Teddy had lately spent more time with Victoire than he did trimming the lawn and weeding the flowerbeds. He feels bad, Scorpius, angry, ashamed, slighted, sorry, upset, sad... overwhelmed, _trapped_.

"That's not a fair question," he said, his eyes still on the overgrown greenery.

"Not a fair question?" his mother echoed. Her tone gave her irritation away.

"How am I to figure out other people's feelings?" Albus demanded, spinning round to face her.

"I heard you were friends," she retorted. "Or doesn't your friendship run that deep?"

Albus gulped.

"Mum!" The word came out very much louder than intended. It was almost a shout. Although he'd been confronted with pointless insinuations like that in the course of the past year, he hadn't grown accustomed to ignoring them. They hurt when they were uttered by random people, and hearing his mother talk that way hurt even more. He saw – at the very edge of his vision – his father raise his hands in a gesture meant to soothe.

"No, Dad, I _want_ to draw Mum a picture," Albus burst out, his indignation suddenly bubbling unchecked. He took a step forward – he wanted to be close to his father; he wanted his mother to understand. "The thing is that loads of people at Hogwarts look at me but see Dad instead. And straight away, they'll go and expect me to become a big hero once I grow up. And just about as many people look at Scorpius and see _his dad_. And without stopping to think, they'll go and decide that he must not be trusted because all Malfoys have been rotten apples since the dawn of time. We both have to deal with that whether we want to or not. Maybe..." he paused, partly to catch his breath and get his agitation under control, and partly to search for words suited to getting his point across. "Maybe here's one of the reasons you're looking for, one of the reasons why Scorpius and I became friends – we have something in common that runs a bit deeper than just doing homework together or playing Wizard Chess. Having a surname everyone instantly recognises is not always easy."

Being calmer now, he registered the concern on his parents' faces. He had their undivided attention. This realisation provided the reassurance he needed to continue.

"Look, Dad, that's not the real you some of those people are talking about. They think – well, I don't know what they think – but they make you out to be some super-human super-hero. It's crap, it's annoying, and I can't do a thing about it. So maybe Scorpius knows his dad in a way that doesn't completely match with what people who do not personally know Mr Malfoy say about him. I'm sorry, I can't explain that any better." He inhaled deeply before he put a cartload of unspoken expectation into his last sentence, "Scorpius loves his parents, both of them."

He'd barely finished when the door flew open without preceding knock. A heartbeat later, James stood in the middle of the room.

"Honestly, how much longer do we have to wait?" he complained. "That deafening noise you're hearing is my stomach rumbling!"

Albus sagged, both physically and mentally. The moment was thoroughly ruined. The reply he'd awaited wouldn't come now, at least not the spontaneous one he'd hoped for.

"James, will you bother to knock before you enter a room?" their mum snapped.

James – ever so slightly – cringed.

"Did I interrupt something important?"

"You did," their dad said, giving him a stern look.

"Really? What?" James cried out. "What did you do, little bro? Commit some heinous crime?"

Albus clenched his jaw. What he would have liked to throw at his brother wasn't fit for their parents to hear.

"Albus didn't do anything wrong," Dad said, still very grave. "We were discussing Mr Malfoy."

"Finally!" James exclaimed. "I was starting to fear for your reputation as the world's finest Auror, what with you not finding out for a whole y-"

"That's enough, young man!" their mum cut him short, seized him by the shoulder and wheeled him round towards the door. "You can assist me with making breakfast."

"But I already did!" James protested as she marched him out. "Of course, the scrambled eggs will be cold by now. It was either that or charring them to c-.

The door closed with a dull thud.

"That's the difference," Albus said with a sigh. "James shakes the burden off so easily. I can't."

"What burden?"

"Of living up to a name."

"Redeeming one may be even harder," his dad murmured under his breath. A little louder, he added, "Dean Thomas spoke of a second boy with violet hair. Was that boy Scorpius?"

Albus nodded.

"Did I see him, too? At King's Cross?"

"Yes, Dad. And there's something else I ought to tell you." Since this was the day for confessions, Albus could as well make a clean breast. "I'm not going to attend the trials for the Quidditch team."

"Why not?" his dad cried out, totally taken aback. "You love Quidditch!"

"I do. But I'm not the best flyer in my year and I don't want to tempt anyone to prefer me to others because... well, because of _your_ fame." He met his father's incredulous stare without flinching. "I mean it, Dad. Don't try to change my mind."

"Well... if your mind is set like that..." his dad said, shaking his head in utter disbelief. "What else is there behind this? Do you want to give Scorpius a better chance to make the team?"

"Not him; he isn't much interested in Quidditch. But there are so many-" He abruptly dropped silent when – somewhat belated – the implication of his father's question occurred to him. "No, Dad! Scorpius and I aren't the only people around! There are others, too. About twenty students, mostly older ones, will be competing for the seven positions. The Davies twins are dying to play. There's also Ireen Urquhart in my year. She's so fast and skilled, she might have been born on a broom. She'll make a much better Seeker than I would."

"If she's more talented than you, she'll beat you in the trials," his dad said, putting a hand on Albus's shoulder. "I see no problem there, unless you're afraid you can't cope with defeat."

"That's not the point," the boy muttered.

Attending the trials and failing on purpose wouldn't be too difficult to achieve, but it would have the feel of deceit about it. Besides, people would know – Rose and Scorpius, Madam Hooch, James, Ireen, and some others. Twice as many would guess. So, this was no option. But not attending the trials in the first place would be a statement.

"Make me see your point," his dad said.

Albus felt the light pat on his shoulder, the nearness, the offered trust.

"I can't become your perfect copy, Dad," he said. "That's why I've decided to make a point of not becoming your copy."

"I had no idea you were wrestling with such woes," his dad said, pulling him closer. "To be honest, Albus, I'm also a bit at loss as to how to guide you in that matter. Maybe the best piece of advice I can give you is: Stay true to yourself. Follow your heart."

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Author's note:

Thanks to my beta readers EvilSatsuma and duj.


	4. Teaming Up For a Shopping Trip

Chapter 4: Teaming Up For a Shopping Trip

-

(August 1, 2018, 8:15 am; Exeter)

-

The envelope revealed another picture postcard. It showed an assembly of aeroplanes. The first card, which had arrived nearly three weeks ago, had had a multi-coloured building on it – a building with all sorts of fanciful decorations, weirdly distorted walls, windows of different sizes and shapes, and actual trees growing out of it. Last week he'd got a card showing a number of quaint houses next to lake of deep blue water, and steep, rocky mountains in the backdrop. Ursula had been delighted. Cassie would probably like today's one better.

He turned it over to read.

"Hi, we just got back via Munich. The flight was great. – Other topic: I got a letter from Hogwarts* telling me what to buy for next year. But the Ministry escort service is only for first-years so nobody will be sent to help us this time. Now my parents were wondering whether we could come along when you do your shopping. Papa says you have to go anyway and, therefore, it will perhaps not be too much bother. Besides, Mama would like to know at least some of my classmates and their parents. She was really happy meeting your mum at Kings Cross. So, please, ask your parents and then mail** me. Seeing you would be great. I've so much to tell you. Bye, Joseph

* That owl flew all the way to St. Gilgen; can you imagine?

** joseph_from_austria [at] ffmail. com"

He pushed the postcard back into the envelope and ran back into the house. They were going to London the day after tomorrow, so this had to be decided without delay.

"Dad?" he called when he heard a metallic clanking coming up from the basement.

"Down here."

Scorpius jumped down the short flight of stairs and made his way to the bicycle storage room. He found his father crouched down next to his bike, about to unlock it.

"Dad, Joseph and his parents are back from Austria," he said, slightly out of breath. "They'd like to know whether we could do the shopping in London together."

His dad visibly tensed.

"It would be perfectly-" Scorpius stopped himself just before saying _safe_. It would be perfectly safe because they were far, far away in Austria when that blasted war took place. They're non-magical people and will remind you of no-one. "-great," he ended his sentence after an unduly long pause.

"Joseph's parents," his dad said slowly, his eyes firmly trained on the bag strapped to the luggage carrier, "would that be the people Mum met at King's Cross? The software programmer and her husband?"

"Yes, that's right."

His dad did not reply. Instead, he busied himself with the lock. Scorpius was quite sure it was open, but his father kept fumbling with it nevertheless.

The boy searched for words to further his plea. Although he'd spoken to the Gerstlmeiers for three minutes at best, they'd struck him as outgoing and honest – just like Joseph. "Mum liked them," he said quietly. "And Joseph's mum was happy about meeting us. He wrote so."

Finally, his dad rose and turned around. "May I read the letter?" he asked.

Scorpius hastily processed Joseph's writing while he pretended to fumble with the envelope. There were no names mentioned so there was no imminent harm.

He handed the card over.

His father took his time perusing the few lines.

Scorpius watched him. He wasn't yet used to seeing him with short hair. Saturday morning after his return from Hogwarts, his dad had taken him aside and suggested going to the hairdresser's together. Scorpius had first objected to his father having his hair cut, too, but his dad had insisted. _Maybe I will even look better; maybe the receding hairline will become less obvious_. Intriguingly enough, the new haircut made his dad look better – more masculine, more mature, especially when combined with stubble like now. Some time ago, Ursula had asked their dad why he so often shaved in the evening rather than in the morning like the fathers of her friends did. _I want to be pretty for your mum_, he had replied. Scorpius could swear he had seen a pink tinge appear on his dad's cheeks. He thought he understood; he had, intuitively, always known that his parents felt a deep affection for each other, he'd noticed all those little signs – intertwined fingers, pecks and gentle caresses, sometimes furtive and sometimes openly displayed – and now, at the age of twelve, he had an inkling of what such affection probably brought about behind closed doors.

"Is he a good friend of yours?" his dad asked at long last.

"Yes, he is."

"A true one? One you can rely on when you are in trouble?"

"Al and I are closer I think, but somebody who deliberately dies his hair violet to make you feel less stupid and depressed _is_ a really good friend."

His dad thoughtfully gazed at the aeroplanes.

"Maybe this idea isn't bad at all," he said eventually and handed the postcard back. "But inform the family that Mum won't come along."

"Is this a yes?"

"This is a yes," his dad confirmed, putting his helmet on. "We will meet them in the ice-cream parlour right across from the... _entrance_. I think it is called _Gelateria Emilia Romagna_. They can hardly miss it."

"Great! Thanks, Dad." Being with Joseph would make shopping at Diagon Alley less awkward. He'd feel less exposed, less vulnerable. The presence of Mrs and Mr Gerstlmeier might even do – and that possibility had not occurred to him before now – the same for his dad. He smiled at the thought. "Besides, somebody who cuts his hair short to make you feel less silly is a really good dad."

This elicited a smile from his father in return. Holding the bike with one hand, he reached with the other for Scorpius's head, pulled him gently closer and placed a kiss – carefully so the stubble wouldn't scrape – on the boy's forehead. In a voice so low that it was almost inaudible he said, "Whatever may befall, Sco, I love you."

Scorpius nodded. He knew. It was the one thing he knew for sure about his father. And he wasn't going to endanger this treasure by asking painful questions. There had to be other ways of procuring information.

He quietly watched his father go, hoisting the bike up when he reached the stairs, and vanishing gradually from sight with each step.

How had the pathetic teen wizard of Monique Vallon's report become his dad? Perhaps he had a chance to learn something substantial about the past by asking his mother how she'd met his father. _How did you know you loved him, Mum?_

She would probably think he was fancying a girl... Well, that was a risk he'd have to take.

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Author's notes:

#1 Since will not display the commercial at sign I substituted it with [at] in Joseph's e-mail address. Of course, he would write it properly.

#2 Many thanks go to my beta readers EvilSatsuma and duj.


	5. Casualty of War

Chapter 5: Casualty of War

-

(August 1, 2018, 1:40 pm; Hornbeam Grove)

-

Persephone strode purposefully into greenhouse IV. It felt fantastic to be in full control of your legs.

She looked around for her uncle. She'd waited for a chance to catch him alone, and right now was the ideal moment – her mother was taking a very much needed nap, her father was meeting with an important customer, and her grandparents were down by the pond, checking the water plants for parasite infestation.

She found her uncle potting fat, green, onion-like bulbs.

"Hi," she said. "Will you let me help you?"

"Potting Gurdyroot?"

"Yes. We learned how to do that at Hogwarts."

"Indeed, did you," Robert Ackerley muttered. It wasn't a question. Somewhat louder, he said, "I doubt anything Professor Longbottom teaches you will ever be good enough for your dad."

"Professor Longbottom is a topic I avoid around my parents," she replied lightly.

"Bright girl." Grinning, her uncle handed her a pair of gloves and a little shovel. He shoved a tray holding pottery towards her. "Fill them with one third manure and two thirds soil."

Persephone set to work. The pots were of various sizes, and she knew she had to measure out the exact amount of manure for each one. Once a pot was properly filled, she put it across the table for her uncle to set the bulbs in. He was whistling softly under his breath.

"I'd like to ask you something," she said after she'd filled the fifth pot.

"Mmm, I guessed you hadn't come down here to get your hands dirty with Aethonan shit," he smirked. "What is it? Has a boy struck your fancy?"

"Well, maybe," she said, smiling faintly at the image that appeared in her mind's eye. "But that's not what I want to talk about. I thought you might be able to tell me something about Draco Malfoy."

Her uncle slammed the pot he happened to be holding down on the table so forcefully that it broke. Bits of manure flew in every direction, causing the girl to jump backwards.

"You can tell your mother I'm sick of her naughty little 'jokes'," he hissed.

The girl took a deep breath. She hadn't expected this sort of emotional reaction. She wasn't even sure her uncle's anger was due to her question at all.

"I startled you... sorry about that," Uncle Robert muttered, genuinely embarrassed. "She picks on me whenever she pleases, your mother. But using you like this... is really base."

"Mum's got nothing to do with anything. She doesn't even know I'm here," Persephone said.

The man gave her a slow, searching look. "Why d'you ask, then?" he grumbled.

"About Mr Malfoy?" Persephone said tentatively. "His son is in my year. And in my house. And since Professor Flitwick had us draw lots in our very first lesson, I'm now sitting next to Scorpius in Charms-"

"Has he been nasty to you?" Uncle Robert interrupted her. All at once, he seemed extremely concerned. "The Malfoy boy, has he hurt you?"

"No, he hasn't," Persephone said carefully. "He has never been mean to me. He's a tolerable boy on the whole. But he's a bit monosyllabic when it comes to his family. His father was a Death Eater, right?"

"Yes, he was," Uncle Robert said tersely and started to clean up the mess he had made.

She watched him. He certainly took more time than necessary. He also avoided looking at her directly.

"Was he a _scumbag_?" she asked. She wasn't going to give up so soon. "Mum says he was a scumbag."

"You mother doesn't know a thing," the man snapped. "_She_ wasn't at Hogwarts the same time that he was."

"But you were."

Robert Ackerley sighed. "Perri, why are you so interested in Draco Malfoy?"

"What is wrong with being interested in gathering information? Look, by and large, nobody tells me anything. It's only _You aren't old enough for that yet_ when I ask Dad and _Do your chores and stop bothering me with idle questions _when I ask Mum."

"And you thought I'd give you less trouble?"

"Yeah, that's what I thought." She grinned, her head slightly inclined to one side.

"Little sprite," he said. There was a smile now tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"So why am I putting my foot right in it every time I mention the name Malfoy?"

Her uncle let out an exasperated sigh.

"Mum ordered me to stay clear of Scorpius. But that's simply not possible. It wouldn't be even if I wanted to. Scorpius isn't the problem, anyway. He's quite okay, as I've said. The trouble is here, at home. Or it may be in unexpected places. Sometimes I feel like I'm wandering around in a mine-field, blind-folded."

Her uncle had gone very quiet. He looked her up and down, apparently pondering something.

"Well, I may just as well tell you," he finally said. "I wasn't so much older than you are now when it happened."

He took a heavy, extra large basket and put it upside down for Persephone to sit on it. He simply sat down on the floor.

"It's not as if I was well acquainted with Draco Malfoy while I was in school. He was four years older and in another house. Of course, he was one of the more prominent students. He used to strut around as if he owned the place. During my first year, when that ugly toad Umbridge ruled the school, he was a lieutenant of her infamous Inquisitorial Squad. The older students said he revelled in docking points and handing out detention. That may well be true; Squad members were something like prefects, only with more rights and keen on abusing them. Malfoy never came near me or any of my classmates, though. To us, the whole thing seemed more to be a private feud between him on one side and Potter and his allies on the other. That made sense because Umbridge had a feud going on with Potter, too.

"During my second year at Hogwarts, things were quieter. In retrospect, I have to say it was the best time I had there. I don't remember seeing Malfoy much around that year. I believe he even dropped out of the Slytherin Quidditch team.

"Then Dumbledore died. Death Eaters had entered the castle, and Malfoy had let them in. Everyone said so. I think that's true because he fled with Snape and the others.

"Unfortunately, they came back. Snape was the new headmaster. All right, afterwards it came out that he had been working for the other side all the time, but while he was there, he didn't do much to stop those horrible Carrows. I guess he couldn't or else he'd had blown his cover. So, all he did was make sure those monsters didn't actually kill one of us students. They would have liked to, Amycus and Alecto Carrow, no mistake about that. Hogwarts was hell on earth back then. There was punishment for the slightest transgression. Sometimes, it was enough to _look_ horrified when you were supposed to agree. And punishment was always cruel, always painful. Painful in a physical sense. Amycus used to turn his wand into a riding-crop. We spent his lessons in fear. An ink blot on your parchment earned you a smack on the fingers, a wrong answer a smack on the mouth. I lost count of how often I was left with blood trickling down my chin. His sister was even worse. There seemed to be no limit to her imagination when it came to inventing punishment. I'd rather not tell you, Perri. I've had nightmares for years. That's the true reason why I quit after my O.W.L.s. I hated Hogwarts. Merely walking into a room where I once had been punished made me panicky. All I wanted was to run, run away as far as I could."

Persephone half regretted having brought up the topic. Her uncle seemed unusually agitated. She reached for his hand and squeezed it briefly because she could think of no comforting words to say.

He gave her a sad little smile.

"Well, you want to know where Draco Malfoy comes into the picture," he went on. "One night, shortly after the Easter holidays, I didn't make it back from the library in time. I was perhaps two minutes late, but the petty nature of my transgression made Carrow all the more happy when he caught me. I got detention. Detention meant..." He took a deep breath before he continued, "It was no secret what detention meant. I'd heard the whispered reports, I'd seen the terror in the faces of those summoned to Carrow, and the agony when they came back. You see, by that time, the Carrows had started to teach their protégés the Cruciatus Curse, and students who had detention served as their training objects."

The girl inhaled sharply. She didn't at all like the turn this tale was taking.

"Yes, I was half-mad with fear," her uncle continued, now taking her hand into his and stroking its back with his thumb. "Stewart tried to soothe me, but to little avail. I almost wet myself when I had to walk down to the Dark Arts Training Room the next day.

"Besides me, there were a couple of older Hufflepuff boys. They were handed over to two beefy seventh-year Slytherins, then I was assigned to Draco Malfoy. I remember Malfoy's blank stare and Carrow's spiteful sneer as if it had only taken place yesterday. Carrow said something about me being a delicate specimen and therefore suited to Mr Malfoy's fine skills and refined tastes.

"Malfoy just grabbed me. With a hissed _You'll do as I say_, he pressed his wand to my temple – and all fear was suddenly gone. I felt like a feather, floating on a gentle breeze and caring about nothing. He dragged me by my collar to the other side of the room. There, he slammed me against the wall and – pointing his wand at me – commanded, _drop to the floor, twitch, scream_. And I did. I simply did. _Scream louder, twitch harder_, he demanded, and I complied. I was absolutely happy to writhe on the flagstones and to scream at the top of my lungs. I became dimly aware of Carrow turning up and talking to Malfoy. Once Carrow had left, Malfoy grabbed me again. Telling me to shut up and to stop twitching, he pushed me hard against the wall. He held me level with his whitish face – he was more than a foot taller than I was – and said, _You won't tell anyone what happened here. You will slink back to Ravenclaw tower on all fours, groaning. You will pretend to be sick. Tomorrow morning and henceforth, you will behave as usual._ He let go of me, and I fell down, spraining my ankle. I didn't feel any pain, though. On the contrary, I was in heaven. Don't laugh at me, Perri, I did crawl on my hands and knees back to the Ravenclaw common room. There, your dad picked me up and put me to bed after I had told him I felt ill." He looked the girl straight into the eyes and added with a note of defiance, "I swear that is what happened. I'm not making anything up, I'm not leaving anything out."

"But I do believe you," Persephone said. "He placed you under an Imperius Curse and made you-"

"_You_ know about Imperius Curses?" her uncle burst out.

"Well, yes-"

"I didn't! In my time, first-years weren't taught about Unforgivables. I had no idea! I did not know what was happening with me. The heavenly feeling lasted for several more days before it gradually faded. Worry and fear came back with full force. And of course, I didn't talk to anyone even though the Curse was spent because I was way too afraid of what that Death Eater scum would do to me when I disobeyed orders... I did realise that Malfoy hadn't used the same curse on me as so many others had suffered. I instinctively concluded that he had messed with my mind, that he had made me temporarily insane. I feared he might turn me insane for good because, by then, I _did_ know that I had crawled on all fours down the corridors. And that realisation was beyond embarrassing."

"I'm sorry," Persephone whispered.

"Don't be. I'm grateful someone listens once in while." He gave her another sad little smile and released her hand. With a sigh, he added, "I would have liked to take part in the Reconciliation Programme the Ministry started some ten years ago. But Gran downright forbade me. She said, I had done enough damage already."

"People aren't responsible for what they do when they're under an Imperius!" Persephone cried. Admittedly, her grandmother was a dogged, strait-laced woman who thought using kind words cost her money but how could she say something like that? "Not even all adults are capable of fighting the Curse off. You were only a boy – how dare anybody blame you?"

"No, Perri, me having suffered an Imperius Curse wasn't the problem. My big folly was telling the Aurors what had happened during that detention."

"Wasn't that the right thing to do?"

He laughed. It sounded bitter. "I told them _precisely_ what had happened. _Too_ precisely..."

Persephone didn't see what could be wrong with a detailed and accurate testimony.

"What exactly _does_ Gran blame you for?" she asked.

"For not sending Malfoy straight to Azkaban."

She stared at her uncle. "I don't understand."

"I don't, either." He shrugged. "Afterwards – afterwards! – she let me know what I _should have told_ the Aurors."

"Wait, you said you told them the whole truth. What else could you have told them?"

"Sophisticated little half-truths instead of an unadulterated description of the event. The trick is using words that seem to point into a certain direction. Most people hear what they want to hear. That's why you can make them believe something that isn't exactly true without telling actual lies. It's an art; and I'm not good at it."

"You were honest," she said with emphasis. "That's nothing to be ashamed off."

"Yes, I was honest. That at least I can say to my credit. The punch line is, however, that I don't know the _truth_, not the_ whole_ truth at any rate. I haven't the faintest idea why Malfoy did what he did. Perhaps he was unable to perform a proper Cruciatus Curse and simply put up a ruse so Carrow wouldn't notice. That's Gran's theory. The judges thought differently – although I don't know that for certain; I wasn't there. I only ever spoke to the Aurors, and they said they'd read my testimony in court. From what it seems, the judges concluded that Malfoy took pity on me."

Persephone frowned. Here she was met again with the same old question: Why? The only person able to shed some light on the mystery was probably Mr Malfoy himself. How likely was he to do so? Persephone tried to imagine Scorpius walking up to his father and asking, _Why did you place Sepho's uncle under an Imperius Curse instead of torturing him?_

"Somehow, word got round that I had spoken in favour of Death Eaters," Uncle Robert went on. "My housemates were whispering behind my back, trying to figure out whether I was just an idiot or a secret supporter of Death Eater beliefs. That along with all the other crap, the nightmares, and my quitting after O.W.L.s as a result summed up quite nicely. It made me the black sheep of the family."

"Don't say that."

"But it's true."

She regarded her uncle. He was a man in his early thirties, lean, fit, and – at least in her opinion – handsome. Yet, he had neither wife nor girlfriend. He spent most of his waking hours tending the countless herb beds or busying himself in the greenhouses. At family gatherings, he lingered in the background or sought to make himself helpful in the kitchen.

He tried to stay out of Gran's way as much as possible. His mother considered him a failure and hardly passed up an opportunity to rub it in. Others in the family followed her example to various degrees – or not at all.

"Dad says you've got a green thumb. He says you're the best gardener to grow alihotsy since Paeonia Parsley."

This time, the man's smile wasn't all cheerless.

"Stewart has always been good to me. Since he's had the say here, I even get a fair wages. He doesn't treat me as if I were a complete imbecile, barely able to hold a dung-fork by its right end. That's why I have, little by little, stopped thinking about leaving. Going elsewhere wouldn't make much sense, anyway. You won't get well-paid jobs if you haven't got N.E.W.T.s. unless you venture into the shady lanes of the black market. No, I'm staying. It's the family business, after all."

That was the catch phrase. The daily routine in Persephone's family was dictated by the needs of the greenery. Despite being eight months into pregnancy, her mum got up at half past three in the morning because Screechsnap leaves had to be harvested at dawn. Her dad stayed up late to put complicated spells on certain plants at five to midnight. Her grandparents' attention was focussed solely on their work; they hardly ever left the grounds.

Gran liked to point out that she and Grandfather had aided neither side in the war as if this was an achievement to be proud of. Persephone suspected her grandparents had just been stooped down too low over the neat, straight furrows in the soil to notice a war raging outside the gnome-proof fences of their estate. Well kept fences or not, war had found a way to sneak in.

"Uncle Robert, do you think things would have gone differently if Scorpius's father had just done what he had been told, if he had used the" – she shifted on the basket because the uneven surface was starting to feel uncomfortable – "Cruciatus Curse on you?"

"Honestly, Perri, you're a pain in the ass," the man sighed. "Well, maybe... Malfoy might have ended up in Azkaban; his son might have never been born. Who is to say? My nightmares would probably have become worse. On the other hand, my mother might have shown me a bit more sympathy. There's no point in speculating what _might have been_. It's hard enough to figure out what _was_."

"You're telling me," the girl muttered.

"I'll tell you something else: I've Gurdyroots to pot."

"I'll help," Persephone said, getting up quickly.

The man got to his feet, too. "You don't have to."

"I want to," she said. "And, just to avoid confusion, I do not fancy Scorpius."

Her uncle gave her a wary look. "There'd be pandemonium if your parents found out-"

"It's _not_ Scorpius," Persephone repeated, interrupting him. "I like Joseph."

"Oh." A slow grin spread out on Robert Ackerley's face. "Aren't you a bit young?"

Persephone grabbed a flowerpot and started to fill it with soil. She hadn't really meant to reveal a name. Her parents would be less than thrilled to hear of a Muggle-born boy from a foreign country who was – above all – not overly fascinated with Herbology. Joseph wanted to become a _designing engineer_. He'd explained to her what that meant – he would think up new machines and then build them. Muggles used machinery for almost everything in life from making coffee to printing newspapers and harvesting potatoes. Joseph could talk about all things Muggle for hours, and Persephone liked listening to him. She loved to dive into that other world, a world that lay just outside "Ackerley's Garden Centre and Nursery" and yet was so far away.

"We just do homework together," she said.

"It's okay," her uncle said. "I won't tell on you."

"Good." She pushed the properly filled pot across the table and started on another.

"If you promise not to tell on me, I'll tell you a secret, too."

"I promise!" Persephone said at once. She stopped measuring out Aethonon dung and looked expectantly at her uncle. The man had a roguish glint in his eyes. "What is it?"

"The baby is going to be a boy."

"How can you know that?"

"Well, your dad had the healers conduct a predicting test. They take a drop of blood from each parent, stir them into a special potion, and then, they wait. It can take up to a week before they see a clear result. They apparently did see one now because Augustus Pye scribbled a note on today's mail order. The owl came to me since nobody else was here. So, it isn't my fault I got to learn the good news first. The bird arrived only a few minutes before you. Wait," – He reached into the back-pocket of his trousers and produced a wrinkled piece of parchment – "here, look."

He held the parchment out for Persephone to read.

Someone had drawn a bubble in the upper right-hand corner, surrounding the words _will be boy, due on Sep 5. regards, A.P._

The girl felt a surge of disappointment. She had hoped to see the baby before she went back to Hogwarts. Now, she would have to wait till the Yule break.

She kept her eyes firmly on the order list while she tried to compose herself or, at least, to distract herself from her displeasure. _Bubotuber pus, 2 gills... dittany, 6 ounces... monkshood, 6 ounces... sage, fresh... stinging nettle, 2 sheaves... valerian leaves, 1 pound... wartwillow bark-_

"What is wartwillow?" she asked almost automatically.

"Not a tree like other willows but a kind of stumpy shrub. It's native to the Russian tundra. Why do you..." he trailed off, turning the parchment round. He studied the list, an alarmed expression on his face. "Oh, bollocks," he exclaimed. "I'm not sure we're growing any wartwillows at all, let alone enough to peel a whole pound of bark off. Your dad will go into a state when he hears St Mungo's wants something we cannot supply."

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Author's note: Thanks go to my beta readers EvilSatsuma and duj.


	6. Aurors at Work

Chapter 6: Aurors at Work

-

(August 1, 2018, 3:45 pm; Portham Marina)

-

"Dragon egg smugglers..." Harry said, taking in the interior of the grubby boat shack with a swift glance. The members of the flying squad had already Apparated the suspects away. The remaining task was to gather as much evidence as possible. "We haven't had those for quite a while. Well done, Dean."

"Thanks, boss," Dean said.

"You're welcome."

Harry used his wand to lift one by one the lids of the large wooden boxes standing around.

"What do we do with the eggs?" Dean asked, while simultaneously counting their number. "Most of them don't look to me as if they're still any good."

"That's for the experts to decide," Harry replied with a sigh. The Peruvian Vipertooth was on the verge of extinction. The only wildlife population held less than twenty animals according to recent inspections. Another twenty beasts lived in reservations worldwide. That was all. And now this. The eggs here, save perhaps one or two, were in the most miserable condition. The shack reeked of rotten dragon egg. "If they give the word, we'll send the eggs straight to the reservation in Romania. They have high-level equipment there, magical fire incubators and the like."

"Okay, Harry. Eleven eggs," Dean said. "Let's get some fresh air."

Outside, Quirinia Trimble was waiting. She was a young Auror who had specialised in securing evidence on crime scenes.

"It's time for photo shooting. I want every minute detail," Harry told her. More to himself, he added, "And I wish we could also present that foul stench in court."

"I can take an air sample, sir," the young witch said brightly.

"You can?"

"Sure, sir. I have all the necessary tools about me."

"Jolly good. Do it, then. And my name is Potter, not Sir."

"Yes, s-" she caught herself just in time. "I'll see to that, Mr Potter."

He watched her disappear into the shack. Adding a number of experts to his staff had been among the first things he'd done after becoming the Head of Auror office.

"Eleven eggs!" Dean muttered. "They must have been collecting them for years. I mean, given the number of Vipertooths that still roam freely, there can't be many eggs per year."

"Maybe we've found here the very reason why the population has dwindled down so dramatically. Judging from the lovely odour, some of those eggs might be a decade old."

"Can't wait to question those poachers," Dean growled in a low voice.

"Hm, speaking of asking questions," Harry said, sitting down on the low balustrade that went along one side of the landing stage. "I'd like to ask you one."

Dean shrugged. "Pure coincidence. I was here with my family last weekend. I noticed that none of the holidaying Muggles went even near a certain pier so I checked. And as expected, there were all sorts of Muggle Repelling Charms. There were also wards designed to keep wizarding folk away. That made me curious."

"Coincidence or not – that was good work, Dean." Well worth a little bounty, Harry added in his thoughts but said nothing aloud because he hated making promises he couldn't keep. The accountants in the financial department were, without exception, misers and skinflints. "The question I had in mind is of a personal nature," he went on. "It's about the Yaxley incident. You told me that there was another boy with violet hair. Any guess who he was?"

"I promised your son not to tell."

"Yes, but you could guess. That wouldn't exactly be a betrayal."

"You'll laugh at me," Dean said, sitting down next to Harry. "The boy's eyes... I thought they looked like Malfoy's. The shape of his face, his whole physique seemed to say _Malfoy_. His behaviour didn't fit, though. After all, their main goal was to save that Hufflepuff girl, a Muggle-born. So, the outward likeness was in all probability misleading."

"It wasn't. The boy you met was indeed Scorpius Malfoy."

"How do you know?"

"Albus told me. And yes, they're friends. Don't ask me how that happened. It did, and apparently without any explicit purpose on either side. At least, that's the way Albus explains it."

"Merlin's beard! And here I thought I should take to carrying a Dehallucinator..."

"I doubt that anyone can perform an Omniguise Charm powerful enough to last a whole term and to fool an entire school," Harry chuckled. "Besides, the world doesn't need superior magic to become more multi-faceted with every passing day. Having Malfoys around who are not rotten apples certainly is a novelty. Neville assures me that, by and large, Scorpius behaves himself properly."

"Neville would know, wouldn't he?"

"I guess so. However..." he paused. "Look, Dean, I won't stoop to prying into people's privacy without a proper reason. But should you hear, or see, or find the slightest evidence that one of the older Malfoys is putting a toe out of line, then tell me. Tell me right away; I want to be the first one to know."

"I will, Harry, trust me," Dean said. "Ella was with them... my daughter is socialising with a Malfoy! That's a thought I won't get used to all that easily."

"Look at the bright side," Harry said, getting up. "She isn't sleeping in a bed that stands next to his."

"Honestly, Harry!" Dean burst out. "I've heard you crack better jokes!"

"I'm not joking. Scorpius is in Ravenclaw. He shares a dorm with Al-" He broke off when the unintended saucy implication of his previous remark finally occurred to him. "Oh, sorry... I didn't mean to make any allusions."

"No, probably not," Dean said earnestly. "Sleeping in the same dorm as Malfoy, oh dear..."

"Well, I'll simply have to cope with my son's choice in friends," Harry said. He gestured towards Trimble who had just emerged from the shack and was now greedily breathing in the fresh, salty sea air. "Let's get back to work."

"Right," Dean grinned and slid off the balustrade. "Would be thoroughly bad manners to lounge around and watch young ladies working up a sweat."

"Yeah," Harry couldn't help but grin a bit, too. "Apart from that – it's a Muggle area, and we mustn't draw too much attention."

-

However, Dean's joking had triggered a feeling of vague unease.

_Watching young ladies_ Harry mused as they prepared the dragon eggs for safe Apparition. He should take watching over his daughter, his little flower girl, quite seriously he decided. Sometimes, guys ended up with their best mate's younger sisters.

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Author's notes:

#1 Harry gave Neville's regards to Dean earlier that day. He didn't forget.

#2 Thanks go to my beta readers EvilSatsuma and duj.


	7. Technology vs Magic

Chapter 7: Technology vs. Magic

-

(August 1, 2018, 5:15 pm; London)

-

"Papa?"

"Ja?" Mr Gerstlmeier said, turning away from his computer.

"Scorpius hat geantwortet," Joseph said.

He summarised Scorpius's message for his father, essentially relaying the suggested date and meeting place. He watched as his dad typed the words _London_, _ice-cream_ _parlour_ and _Gelateria Emilia Romagna _into the keyboard. A Google map showing the exact location of the shop appeared on the screen only a fraction of a second later. The _Leaky Cauldron _wasn't there, though, nor was_ Diagon Alley_.

Mr Gerstlmeier nodded and marked the space for Friday morning in the day-planner on his desk with a fat, green pen.

"Alles klar," he stated, bestowing a radiant smile on his son.

"Alles klar, Papa," replied Joseph. "See you later."

Closing the door to his father's study, Joseph silently made a promise to himself. He'd put even more effort into his studies in the years to come. He was determined to find out one day how exactly that Ministry of Magic fooled the Global Positioning System.

- End -

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Dictionary:

ja.............................. _yes_

hat geantwortet........ present perfect of _to answer_

alles klar................... _okay_

-

Author's notes:

#1 Sorry, this is a bit short for a chapter, but the alternative would be a lengthy conversation in German.

I'm planning to write at least one more story about Al, Rose, Scorpius, Sepho, and Joseph. However, I'm a slow writer so please be patient.

#2 Thanks go to my beta readers EvilSatsuma and duj.


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